The Lefthanded Path
by Dr. Cupcake
Summary: Someone from Jack's past catches up with him, and it's up to Micki and Ryan to save him not only from the outside threat but also from himself.
1. Chapter 1

Friday the 13th: the series

"The Left-handed Path"

Standing inside a pentagram drawn with branches, behind an altar made of hollowed out tree-trunks, the man allowed a small smile. He removed the hood of his cloak so he could feel the moonlight bathe his face; and the hour had arrived. He picked up the wax figure from the altar and held it out in front of him, the tall trees surrounding him cast dark shadows beneath him, and he could feel the trembling of revenge rising from his own soul.

"Prince of all power and darkness, I offer this symbol of your servant fallen as a sacrifice of my own love and loyalty to your will and evil works." He reached into a black silk pouch hanging from the rope tied around his black robe, extracting human hair. "I give this emblem identity with this hair removed from his head so that I may work the dark magick to do your will."

He secured the human hair to the wax figurine with a straight pin before continuing. "May the man that this symbol represents experience all of your great wrath and fire with each strike of flame to his belly and sharp prick to his head. May he reap what he has sown by turning from the true father toward the white light of cowards; for having forsaken the power granted to him by Lucifer and taking up with the light, may he slowly and painfully dissolve away into the depths of hell awaiting him."

He struck a match and held it under the mid-section of the wax figure. "So mote it be."

* * *

He awoke with a frightful start, almost falling from his bed. As his eyes focused in the dark, he glanced around, but there was no cause for concern; everything was as it should have been. Taking a deep, calming breath, he lay back down slowly, assuring himself that his fitful sleep was due to the rigor of the evening's activities. A slow smile pulled at his lips: the cursed sword had been retrieved before it had a chance to cause any permanent damage to anyone, although he had certainly suffered a bit of an ordeal as its target. Ryan and Micki barely saved him from becoming another statistic of one of Lewis' objects.

Jack let out a long sigh of air and closed his eyes, trying to relax, but a moment later, his eyes snapped open as an intense nausea gripped him hard. His stomach pitched and roiled as though it had been doused with acid and lit on fire. He bolted quickly toward the bathroom, barely arriving in time to catch the contents of his violently ill stomach. After an assault that could have knocked down an elephant, Jack leaned against the cabinet, holding his stomach. He moaned as another wave of nausea hit him, once again causing him to kneel in front of the toilet, this time coughing up only bile.

Exhausted from the excruciating and sudden onslaught, he fell to his side, curling up as the cramps and pain increased. It was the last thing he remembered before blackness engulfed him.

* * *

The sunlight streaming through the window in her bedroom slowly aroused her from a restful sleep. Micki rolled over lazily, sighing as she stretched her arms over her head. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon. Bacon and eggs, or possibly pancakes…. She thought for a moment. No, bacon and eggs sounded best. She threw back the covers, pulled her robe around her and headed for the bathroom. The door was closed: one of the lovable yet irritating men she lived with beat her to it. She sighed and waited, but she heard nothing from within. She knocked lightly.

"Ryan? Jack? Whichever one of you is in there, let's get a move on!"

There was no answer. Micki tried the doorknob and found that it was unlocked. She opened the door cautiously and felt her throat tighten at the sight before her.

"Jack!" She rushed to him, gently shaking him. "Jack? Can you hear me?" But he neither answered nor moved. She yelled toward the open door, "Ryan! Ryan, come quickly!"

A moment later Ryan, still drowsy from sleep, entered. "Why are you screaming so loudly at this—" He spotted Marshak on the floor. "Jack! What happened?"

"I don't know," Micki answered. "I found him in here like this. I've no idea how long he's been down."

Ryan put his hand on Jack's chest. "He's breathin'... Maybe he just passed out."

Micki then noticed the contents of the unflushed toilet bowl. "He's been really sick." She flushed the offending bowl and put her hand on Marshak's forehead. "He doesn't feel feverish," she commented to Ryan.

"Maybe it was something he ate."

"Must be," Micki agreed with her cousin. "Come on and help me, let's get him back to bed."

With some effort, the two of them lifted the larger man. "Let's put him in your room," Ryan suggested through clenched teeth, "He's too heavy to carry all the way back downstairs."

"Okay."

As gently as they could, Micki and Ryan carried Jack to Micki's bed, placing him carefully on it. Micki pulled the covers over him and sat on the edge.

"Ryan, can you bring me a cold compress? Maybe we can rouse him."

A moment later, Dallion handed her a wet washcloth, and Micki brushed it over Marshak's face.

"Jack? Jack, come on," she coaxed. "Wake up, Jack."

After a minute or so, Marshak groaned and his eyes fluttered open. "Micki?"

"Yeah," she said, running her hand over his balding head, "What happened?"

He shook his head. "Last thing I remember was feeling violently ill." He looked at her in alarm. "How long have I been out?"

"I don't know," she confessed. "I found you this morning, passed out on the bathroom floor."

Ryan sat on the other side of the bed. "Did you hit your head or anything, Jack?"

He shook his head slightly. "Don't think so."

"How do you feel now?" Micki asked.

"A little queasy, I guess, and my head feels like a symphony's being played in it."

"How about a nice hot cup of tea?" Micki inquired, "Will that help a little?"

Jack shrugged slightly. "Maybe."

"Micki," Ryan said, "you stay here with him, I'll fix the tea."

"Thanks, Ryan," she replied. Marshak shivered suddenly, and Micki pulled the covers tighter around him. "I think you've got the flu, Jack."

"Yeah," he responded weakly, "feels like it."

She took one of his hands in hers, squeezing it lightly. "Just relax, Ryan and I will take care of everything. You need to just lie quietly and rest for a few days. It was a tough week, and almost being run through with that cursed sword last night didn't help." He smiled slightly at her, and she brushed her hand over his forehead. "Close your eyes, Jack. I'll be right here……"

After a minute or so, Marshak fell into a deep sleep, unaware of any impending danger.


	2. Chapter 2

Sitting at the kitchen table, Ryan and Micki spoke in quiet tones over their steaming cups of morning coffee.

"It's been 24 hours and he hasn't improved at all," Ryan commented, "He's becoming dehydrated." He looked into his cousin's eyes. "I know he doesn't want us to call a doctor, but honestly Micki, I'm really worried."

"Yeah, me too. I'll call Dr. Sorenson and see if he has time to drop by and check him over."

"The sooner the better, in my opinion," Dallion said.

"I'll go downstairs and call right now," Micki offered, "Why don't you check on him?"

"Good idea."

Taking her mug with her, Micki headed downstairs and Ryan quietly walked into the bedroom adjacent to the kitchen. He stood at the foot of the bed for a moment, watching the slightly labored rise and fall of his friend's chest. Ryan shook his head in worry as he sat on the edge of the bed, softly wiping the beaded sweat from Jack's brow, causing the older man to stir with a moan.

"Hey Ryan," Marshak's hoarse voice squeaked.

"How're you doin' Jack?"

"A little better, I think," Marshak lied.

"Really," Dallion's voice belied his skepticism. "Then why don't I make you some toast and an egg. You haven't eaten a thing in two days."

Marshak made a face at the thought of it. "I uh, don't really feel up to that much, Ryan. Perhaps just a cup of tea."

"Jack, you've got to eat."

"Ryan, please, just some tea."

"We're calling a doctor," Dallion announced as he stood up.

"I don't need a doctor," Jack growled.

"Yes, Jack, you do."

"Damnit, Ryan, I asked the two of you not to do that."

Dallion sat back down on the edge of the bed. "We're worried about you, Jack. I mean really worried."

The older man's features softened as he reached for the young man's hand. "I'm okay, Ryan, really. It's just the flu."

"If it was just the flu, you'd be better by now, Jack. Look, what's it going to hurt, you seeing a doctor?"

"I don't like them."

Dallion sighed audibly. "Well that's not good enough. Micki's calling Dr. Sorenson, besides you like _him_."

"As a chess partner, I like him, as a doctor, I don't want him darkening my doorstep."

Ryan smiled slightly and patted Jack's hand. "Settle down and save your energy. I'm going to fix some tea and we'll see if you can keep that down."

"Oh, joy….."

Chuckling slightly, Ryan left the room to make tea just as Micki entered. She sat on the bed and smiled at the man who had over the years, become a father to her.

"Is there anything I can do?"

Marshak shook his head, too tired to speak after his sparring with Ryan.

"Dr. Sorenson is coming by shortly." When Jack didn't respond, Foster frowned. "You're not even going to argue with me?"

"Already lost to Ryan," Jack whispered, "and I feel very tired."

Micki reached under his shoulders and neck and began to rub his muscles gently with her hands. "You've had a couple of pretty rough nights, I'm not surprised. You need to get your strength back, and you need to rest."

Jack groaned as she massaged away the tension. "I'm sure Dr. Sorenson will be able to give you something to make you feel better."

"Mmmm..." he muttered before succumbing to Micki's gentle attention and falling into a light sleep.

Micki continued to rub his muscles until she was sure he was asleep, and then softly she stood, bending over to place a light kiss on his forehead. "Rest easy, Jack."

Quietly, she left the room, leaving Jack to disquieted dreams...

"_John! William!" the soft woman's voice called. "It's time for dinner, let's go!"_

_A moment later two boys ran into the kitchen, and sat down at the table._

"_When's pop coming home?" the taller boy asked._

"_I don't know, John, he had to work late."  
_

"_Again?"_

"_Yes, again. Now eat before it gets cold."_

_The younger boy stuck his fork into his mashed potatoes. "Is there more gravy, ma?"_

"_Yes William, in the gravy boat right in front of you."_

"_Sorry, didn't see it, ma," the ten-year old responded._

_Betty Marshak watched her twelve-year old son push his food around the plate. "Is something wrong with your food, John?"_

"_No," the curly-haired boy sighed, "it's fine."_

"_Then why not try eating it please."_

"_Yes ma'am."_

"_Jack's gonna pout now because pop ain't home."_

"_Isn't home," John corrected his younger brother, "and don't call me 'Jack' unless you want to wear those potatoes."_

"_John Marshak, don't you speak to your brother like that."_

"_Yeah, Jack," William taunted, "don't speak to me like that!"_

"_All right, both of you," Betty scolded, "that's enough. Can we please have dinner in peace?"_

"_Yes ma'am," both boys answered._

_The silence continued until well past the time the boys had finished the dishes and were up in their room doing homework._

"_Why were you so upset that pop didn't make it home for dinner? He never does these days," William said._

"_I just don't like seeing ma upset all the time, that's all. Finish your homework, Billy."_

_The younger boy turned back to his book, but only momentarily before he said, "Jack, what's really going on?"_

"_Stop calling me that and what do you mean?"_

"_It isn't just that pop's missed dinner every night this week, is it….."_

_John looked away then and sighed. "Please finish your homework, Billy, and go to sleep. We have school tomorrow."_

"_I'm not a little baby, Jack….."_

"_Billy, I told you not to call me that, and I mean it."_

"_Why not? Pop calls you Jack."_

"_It's a nickname. Besides, it's pop's name for me."_

"_Please can't I call you Jack?"_

_John sighed. "I suppose if it means that much to you, then I guess it's okay if you call me Jack, but just don't do it in front of the guys at school – I don't want it to stick."_

_Satisfied with the partial win, the younger boy went back to his book, and fell asleep on his bed long before Cawley Marshak came home, drunker than Jack had ever seen him. The elder son watched quietly from the landing of the second floor as his father stumbled in the door, almost knocking his mother over in his inebriated state._

"_What's for dinner, Betty?" he slurred._

"_There's a plate in the warmer for you, Cawley."_

"_I didn't ask you that, I asked you what it was….."_

"_Roast chicken and mashed potatoes."_

"_Again?"_

"_What do you expect on the paycheck you bring home; or should I say on the portion that I actually see after you drink up most of it!"_

"_You better mind your mouth, woman."_

"_A little dose of the truth goes a long way doesn't it, Cawley?"_

_The resounding smack of flesh meeting flesh made the twelve-year old start. He watched as his mother tried to get away from his father who repeatedly struck her across the face. Unable to stand it, the boy ran down the stairs and put himself in between his parents._

"_Stop it! I won't let you hit her!"_

"_John," Betty managed to say, "Please go upstairs, right now. Your father and I are just having a little disagreement, there's nothing to worry about. Isn't that right, Cawley?"_

"_Yeah," the old man slurred, "yeah, that's right. Go up to bed, Jack."_

"_No! I won't let you hurt her!" John yelled as he lunged for his father._

_Even in his drunken stupor, Cawley Marshak was a larger, stronger man than his twelve-year old son. He grabbed the boy hard around the neck, and slugged him in the side of the head, rendering the child unconscious. Betty threw herself at her husband, knocking him to the floor, screaming wildly at him, not only waking all their neighbors, but also their ten-year old son. William appeared on the landing, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, which quickly widened at the sight below. Seeing his older brother lying in a pool of his own blood, William ran down the stairs to the older boy._

"_Jack! Jack! Please wake up, Jack!" William wailed at the top of his lungs……_

"Jack! Jack, wake up!"

His blue eyes slowly opened to find Micki holding him down by the shoulders, her eyes wide with fear. "Micki…. What…….what is it?"

"Oh Jack, you must have been having a nightmare. You were screaming at the top of your lungs and thrashing out like you were trying to fight someone off. Are you okay?"

"Yes," he sighed wearily, "yes, I'm okay." For a long moment, Micki didn't back off, and although it was an effort, Jack cupped his hand over the side of her face. "I'm okay," he repeated, "I'm okay, sweetheart."

After another moment, Micki let up on him and sat back, her eyes searching his for the truth.

"What were you dreaming?"

Marshak looked away. "I…..I don't remember."

She gently pulled his face toward her. "You're a terrible liar, Jack."

He nodded and simply said, "Yes."

He let out an uneven breath then, and Micki's concern for him washed through her once more, overtaking any irritation she might have felt in regard to his less than forthcoming explanation. She readjusted his neck and head on the pillow, trying to make him more comfortable.

"Will it help if I stay with you for awhile?" He smiled weakly and nodded. "Take my hand then," she said entwining her fingers through his, "and close your eyes. I'll be right here to catch all the bad dreams."

Jack felt the deep regard he held for her begin to sting his eyes and he slammed them shut, hoping Micki had not seen the stark vulnerability of his heart shining in them. But a moment later he felt her hand softly stroke his face, brushing away the tears she found there, and he knew that there would be no more hiding from her. He just prayed that his strong affection for Micki and Ryan would not prove as fatal to them as it had to everyone else in his life whom he had ever loved.


	3. Chapter 3

"_I told you William, I'll not have anything to do with this."_

"_But Jack, you aren't giving this a chance. You're not giving me a chance!"_

_The forty-year old Marshak stared deeply into his younger brother's eyes. "You know how I feel about this, Billy."_

"_I don't understand how it's any different, Jack." William glared at his older sibling. "You practiced the Black Art for several years. It was all right then, wasn't it….."_

_Jack moved in closer, almost snarling into his brother's face. "Because I was young, stupid and didn't have an older brother to explain to me the dangers of what I was doing." He grabbed William's arms tightly in his hands. "You've got to hear me, Bill. What you're doing is dangerous. It's dangerous to you, to those young co-eds you're hanging around, and it's reckless. As sure as we're standing here something you're going to regret will be wrought from it. I promise you."_

"_We're not using the spells to harm anybody, Jack; we're just using it for financial gain, that's all."_

"_William, I promise you that if you call upon the powers of darkness to help you gain anything, someone will pay for it." Jack brushed a hand down his brother's face. "I don't want to see anything happen to you, Billy. Now please, please stop dabbling in things you don't understand."_

"_That's how it always comes down with you, isn't it? I simply don't understand things as well as my older brother. Well hear me, older brother, I'm just as smart as you are; smarter probably; and I don't need you meddling in my life telling me how to live it. I'm 38 years old, not five, John, I don't need y our help, I sure as hell don't need your advice, and I don't want your interference any longer."_

_The older brother's light blue eyes flashed a deep hurt but after a moment, it was gone. Jack straightened up and cleared his throat. "Fine, then, William. I shall trouble you no longer." Jack started for the door then turned, eyes blazing with anger. "That means no phone calls to bail you out, no borrowing of money, and it means I don't want to see you, William. Not now, not ever. We're through. I will have nothing to do with anyone practicing black magick. Do you understand me?"_

"_Yeah, John, I understand you."_

"_Have a nice life," Jack muttered as he stormed from his brother's apartment, slamming the door behind him._

_The younger Marshak twisted the black onyx ring on his finger. "We'll meet again, someday, Jackie boy, and when we do, you'll find out just how much power I have amassed as it comes crashing down on your head. Then we'll see which of us is stronger………"_

He shook his head from the memories and let the mist in his eyes dissipate before wrapping the wax figure in the ceremonial death shroud. He carefully set it on the altar. Slowly he lit all the black candles enclosing the figure within them and then he lit the incense, waving the softly billowing smoke all around the hollowed-out tree that served as his altar.

"Eva Inatas, mucet oem. Atcideneb ut ni subireilum, te sutcideneb sutcurf sirtnev iut, Hyperia. Atcnas Inatas, aro orp sibon subirotaccep, cnun, te ni aroh sitrom eartson. Nema."

He set the decanter of incense down, allowing the billowing smoke to continue rising as he picked up a large pin and stabbed the figure in the head with it.

"Prince of Darkness, let all of your power come through me into the figure of Jack Marshak. May he feel nothing but the hollowness of an empty heart and the pain of desolation; let him feel the agony of every strike on his head and every blow to his body."

William Marshak stabbed the figure with the pin in the head, followed by several more. Then he pulled the ceremonial dagger from under his robe and sliced it across the figure's midsection. Now it was merely a matter of time.

* * *

The small man in the three-piece suit twitched under his glasses as he watched the second hand tick by the beats of the pulse he held in his other hand. He gently set the arm of the writhing man back on the bed before turning to the worried redhead standing nearby.

"You say this just started?"

"Yes Dr. Sorenson," Micki answered, "shortly before you arrived Jack screamed in pain. By the time I got up here, he was writhing in pain."

Sorenson sat on the edge of the bed and tried to examine his agitated patient. Jack moaned in pain and the doctor frowned at the amount of swelling in the older man's belly. He grabbed a wet washcloth from the bowl on the nightstand, wiping Marshak's sweat-bathed face with it.

"I think we'd better get him to a hospital, Micki."

"How did it escalate so fast?"

"I don't know, I've never seen anything like it. I can't find anything wrong with him, but obviously he's in terrible pain and his fever has spiked. The distension in his stomach concerns me the most though. It could be acute appendicitis."

"No, it can't," Ryan's voice commented from the doorway. "Jack's was taken out when he was a kid."

Sorenson shook his head. "All the more reason we need to get him to a facility; there's no telling what this might be without the proper diagnostic equipment."

"If that's what you think, doctor," Ryan said, "Micki, I'll call for an ambulance if you stay up here with Jack."

"I'll call, son," Sorenson said, stopping him.

As the doctor headed for the door, Micki sat down on the bed, and gently rubbed her hands over his arms. "Calm down, Jack, please calm down." He whimpered in pain, and Micki pulled him in her arms, holding him tightly. "We'll take care of you, Jack, don't worry. I promise I won't let anything happen to you."

Ryan sat on the other side of the bed and rubbed a soothing hand over Marshak's back. After a moment or two, Jack's breathing slowed and the pain lessened. Micki pulled away slightly to look at him.

"A little better, Jack?"

He nodded as he let out a tight sigh. "Little bit….."

Ryan and Micki gently lowered him back down on the bed. Micki held Jack's hands in hers while Ryan softly rubbed the arm closest to him, and momentarily, he was breathing easily, softly falling asleep.

"He seems much better now," Ryan whispered to Micki, a frown plastered on his face.

"Yeah," Micki agreed, "a lot better as soon as we made physical contact with him." She put her hands on either side of the old man's face. "Jack? How do you feel now?"

"Just tired," he whispered.

"No more pain, Jack?" Ryan asked.

He shook his head.

Micki held her hand to his forehead. "His fever's down too."

The two cousins held each other's eyes until finally Ryan said, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Micki nodded and whispered, "Yeah, this smacks of a curse….."

"Or some kind of black magick," Ryan retorted. Micki glared at him and he continued, "Think about it, Micki, he was so sick just a few minutes ago; until we physically surrounded him, putting ourselves between him and whatever had a hold of him. Look at him now."

"He looks like he's asleep."

"Exactly. We need to keep Jack here until we know what's going on."

"What do we do about Sorenson?"

"I think once he sees Jack now we won't have too much trouble getting him to adopt a 'wait and see' attitude."

"Hope you're right," Micki replied as she turned to brush a hand over Jack's brow. "I hope we're right about keeping him here."


	4. Chapter 4

_He heard the laugh from far away, but recognized it immediately._

"_William? Is that you?"_

_The laughter rippled against the moonlit night before he spoke softly. "You should have combined your powers with mine, Jack. We could have controlled so many of the dark lord's deeds together."_

"_Why, William? Why are you doing this?"_

"_Because I want to show you once and for all who the stronger brother is, Jack. You never did give me enough credit."_

"_Billy……..please don't do this."_

_William smiled benignly before stabbing the wax figurine with another sharp pin. Jack winced in pain. He sprinkled a black cloth with a white powder and wrapped the wax figure with it. "May the power of hell hold you tightly in its grip; no manner of white magick will be able to penetrate this anointed cloak."_

"_Billy, please….."_

_The younger Marshak lit a match. "Burn with fever, Jack. Burn under the powers of hell."_

_William held the flame close to the figure and watched as the wax began to melt."_

Micki stirred in her sleep and wearily shifted positions in the chair by the bed. She awoke slowly, becoming aware of the disturbing moaning nearby. Her eyes snapped open and she saw Jack tossing on the bed in pain. She moved to the edge of the bed, putting her hand across his forehead.

"Oh Jack, you're burning up….." She grabbed the cloth out of the bowl of cold water, wrung it out and wiped her friend's face with it. "Shhh…….easy."

Remembering what had calmed him earlier, Micki lifted Marshak into her arms and held him close; but unlike before, his fever continued to burn and he cried softly in pain. Gently lying him back down, Micki went to Ryan's room shaking his shoulder.

"Ryan, wake up!"

"Wh-what is it?"

"It's Jack……something's happening with him again."

Ryan quickly arose and followed his cousin into the other room. The two of them physically enclosed Jack between them, hoping to once again block out whatever was harming him.

Marshak's voice was tight with pain, "Micki…….Ryan……"

Dallion rubbed his hand soothingly over the old man's back. "Calm down, Jack, we're right here with you."

"The dream," the older man whispered, "the dream….."

"What dream, Jack?" Ryan asked gently.

"Black magick, it has to be him. I saw him in the dream," Marshak whispered before leaning heavily against his two friends, unconscious.

"Ryan," Micki said, "it's not helping this time. He's succumbing to whatever's got him."

"What did he mean 'it has to be him,' I wonder."

"I don't know," Micki said frantically, "but we need to do something, Ryan. We've got to help him."

"I know," Dallion agreed, pulling Marshak back to lean against him, "but what do we do? We don't even know what's got him or where it's coming from. Hell Micki, we don't even have a clue of where to start looking."

Foster wiped Marshak's face down again with the cool cloth. "We need to rouse him, Ryan, and see if we can get him to tell us about this dream he was talking about."

"But it's just a dream; a nightmare brought on by the fever, what good will it do us?"

Micki shook her head. "You know Jack's sensitivity to the occult; I doubt it was just a dream from the fever."

"He mentioned black magick……You were able to help me when I was up against it."

"Yes," Micki agreed, "but I had Gareth and Jack to guide me. I don't know what to do on my own."

"Don't we still have Gareth's book around here somewhere?"

"Yes," Micki said as she rose, "it's downstairs on the shelves. Keep an eye on Jack and I'll see if I can find it."

Ryan watched his cousin leave the room and he adjusted Jack's head more comfortably against his shoulder. "Stay with us, Jack. We'll find a way to help you, I promise."

Micki was reading through the section of Gareth's book about protection against Black Magick when she heard the noise at the front door of the shop. She walked to the front door.

"Who's there?" She demanded.

But there was no answer. Micki unlocked and opened the front door and screamed at the sight which greeted her: nailed to the door was a bloody, dead chicken and tied to one of its feet was a ring that was exactly like the one Jack wore.


End file.
